The Forsaken
by A. M. Brossart
Summary: [Sequel to The Undying - DISCONTINUED] After the attack on Volterra, residents are working hard to rebuild their historic city, and Dahlia is struggling to keep her promise to Santiago. Meanwhile, Aro arrives in Forks with a business proposal for the Cullens, but their turbulent past makes for difficult negotiations. And an eager young coven hungers for anarchy ...
1. Prologue

**Okay, the story isn't officially starting yet, but I wanted to get this uploaded so you can at least get a little taste of what's going on in Volterra.**

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**Prologue**

Beneath a dark and cloudy grey sky, Ames sucked in the damp autumn air. "Breathe it in, boys," he said. "Breathe it all in. What do yuh smell?" He looked to his left and to his right and saw nothing but blank stares and dripping wet faces. "_What do yuh smell?_"

Garred took a few sniffs for himself. "Rain. Shit. Garbage. Cum. The Gutter, that's what I smell, the stench of the Gutter, and the rain brings it all bubbling to the surface. You step through puddles of it when you walk. It sticks to your shoes and clings to your clothes and follows you all over 'til you reek of it, too. You never escape the smell of it. It's in your blood."

"Exactly," said Ames, "and everyone can smell it on yuh. Gutter rats, they call us. They sneer at us and spit at us like we're nothin'. And yet they come here when the sun goes down. All of them come down here to the Gutter, to the shit and the garbage, and we fuck them all! Truth is, boys, they need us. They need us, and yuh know why? Because every day their city gets a little smaller, a little dirtier, a little poorer ... But the Gutter, it grows. Soon, there will only be the Gutter, and we'll rule it like kings."

A dozen mouths smiled to reveal rotten, yellow teeth, and then they all dispersed at their leader's command. To the brothels and drug houses went some. Into the city went others, to beg for money and food. They loitered around shops and cafes, always careful to avoid the patrolling policemen, and if the opportunity presented itself they might try to lift a wallet or two. A quick snatch and they were gone and on to the next victim. If they weren't fast enough, they would quickly find themselves in a jail cell. That was the game they played.

As for Ames, he strolled the streets of Volterra with a few of his men. His black boots splashed through puddles of brown, muddy water; it seeped in through the holes in his soles and soaked his socks. Cold and wet, his ten toes wiggled and flexed to keep warm. He drew up his hood and stared around the market square. Empty. It had been empty for months. If he looked long enough in any direction, he could see at least three bright red 'For Sale' signs.

"The tourists are leavin'," he said, "and they're takin' all the businesses with them. A year ago, yuh could barely walk through here without smackin' into some fat tourist. Now, look around. Not a foreigner in sight. There's a 'For Sale' sign on that door right there, and another just over there. Four businesses closed this month, I heard. More will follow. The city can't support them anymore."

"Why've they gone?" asked Dalan from far behind.

Ames shrugged. "Who knows? Some say they got scared 'cause of what happened. Every reporter in the country was talkin' about it, sayin' how dangerous the city was, how the mayor wasn't tellin' the truth. Do yuh really believe wolves attacked the city, and that all those people died of rabies? I smell bullshit and so does everyone else. He's coverin' up somethin', if yuh ask me. And now he's sufferin' for it. His city is quickly goin' bankrupt, and he's strugglin' to save it."

"Speaking of," said Garred when he spotted a familiar face walking out of the cafe. "There goes our proud mayor now."

The men watched Mayor Distefano walk down the street with his hands shoved in the pockets of his long black coat. His salt-and-pepper hair glistened in the rain. His eyes were red and puffy and marked with brown circles from all the long, sleepless nights. A disheveled wreck he was, and everyone could see it.

"Every day his hair gets a little more grey, I swear. I wonder if the stress is getting to him."

"Certainly hasn't affected his spendin' habits, though. Did yuh see the new car he bought? He drives it around the city and takes vacations in Milan 'n Paris, and he wonders why everyone's so angry. Where's all the money comin' from? That's what they wanna know."

"His daughter was spotted in the Gutter, I heard."

Ames looked back at Dalan. "Says who?"

Dalan shrugged. "Lotsa people. They say she's been comin' around almost every night since her brother went 'n shot himself. No mistakin' that face. She's been goin' to see Oskar, and yuh only go to Oskar for one thing."

Ames laughed. "The mayor's daughter visitin' a known drug dealer? Now that's a scandal if I ever heard one."

They followed the mayor through the mud and through the rain, climbing up alleyways and bending around street corners. They followed him all the way to the city hall and saw the protesters gathered with their picket signs. "Tell us the truth!" they kept shouting. "We want the truth!" A bold woman approached the mayor herself and begged to know what happened to her sick daughter, but he brushed her away and hurried inside before the hoard could get him.

Ames set his hungry eyes upon the old stone building. "For years this place has been tauntin' me. Every day, I pass by and it just glares at me like it's challengin' me. Everyone wonders what's in there, what's down in the deep, the way deep that nobody has ever seen. Riches, they say: gold, silver, jewels of all colors. It's full of riches, and the mayor is hoardin' it all for himself. He keeps it all down there while everyone else is strugglin'."

"I heard it's haunted," said Dalan, "or cursed. Demons live down there in the deep, and they have the faces of angels. Deceivers, they are. They lure yuh down there with their sweet words and beautiful faces. And once yer down there, yuh never come out. Nobody comes out."

"Then who tells the stories? If everyone's dead, where do the stories come from?"

"I ... I ..." Dalan's mouth hung open as he thought it over. "Well, I don't know. It's just what I heard."

"Yuh always believe what yuh hear?" Ames shook his head. "I don't care what's down there: demons, monsters, ghosts. The mayor's hidin' somethin' down there, and I wanna see what it is. Tonight. We'll hit this place tonight while the city sleeps. And then we'll see what he's hidin' down there in the deep ..."


	2. The Fly

**Chapter 1: The Fly**

A tiny black fly was buzzing around the bathroom light fixture.

Sitting naked in a tub full of cold water, Dahlia watched it bounce off the hot glass with a quiet _ting! ting! ting!_ It was an awful thing, that sound. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the fly inside her head, zipping from ear to ear and everywhere in between. If left alone, it might lay eggs in her ear and maggots might hatch and feed on her brain. She'd seen it happen before, to a young girl she once knew. One day, right out of the blue, she started complaining about strange crawling sensations in her ear and buzzing noises in her head. Everyone thought she was going crazy. So did she. But then she got real sick: headaches, vomiting, fever. She wouldn't eat, and she slept all the time. Then one morning she didn't wake up. Turns out, a fly had laid its eggs in her ear while she was sleeping. When Dahlia heard that, she started plugging her ears with cotton while she slept.

If only she had some now.

_Ting! Ting! Ting!_

_Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!_

Dahlia's eyes hardened. She wanted to catch it. She wanted to catch it and smash it until it stopped that awful noise which made her skin itch and fingers twitch. The fly had to go. Now.

She climbed out of the tub and snatched her towel off the rack. "Get out!" she growled as she snapped the towel at the ceiling lamp, and then she snapped it again and again. The nimble fly evaded all her attacks and flew out the open door. She chased it down the hall, screaming, "Get out, you little pest! Get out! Get out!" The towel lashed out from her hand like a whip, slicing through the open air and smacking against the walls, but it always missed the fly. Pictures fell and smashed at her feet. Dahlia stomped through the sharp shards and continued her relentless pursuit. It was mocking her, that wretched fly, mocking her with its buzzing and buzzing. You'll never catch me, it was saying. You'll never kill me.

She clutched the towel tightly in her hand and hunted the insect with her eyes; they darted from corner to corner, wall to wall, but found nothing. The fly seemed to be gone. "Where are you?" she demanded. "I know you're still here!"

In the silence, her cell phone started ringing, and her body gave a sudden, violent jerk, like she had just been ripped from a deep sleep. Dahlia stumbled back with wide eyes and stuttering lips and was confused by what she saw. Somehow, she was standing in the middle of the foyer, surrounded by pieces of broken glass and clay. Her hair, wet and sudsy, was dripping cold water down her bare back. Her aching feet bore tiny cuts that had smeared the floor with red. All this she swallowed as best as she could, and then she wrapped the towel around her nude body.

Again, the phone rang.

"Aw shit!" Dahlia cursed, and she dashed into the bedroom, leaping over broken glass and crawling on all fours across her bed. The phone was lying on the other side of the room, beneath a pile of yesterday's clothes: dark blue jeans and a grey knit sweater. One by one, Dahlia tossed the clothes over her shoulder and then retrieved the ringing phone and answered it. "Good morning, Heidi," she said to the caller in a breathless voice.

"Oh, are you having a good morning, Dahlia? I'm so glad to hear that. You know, I would be having a good morning, too, if my assistant would show up to work on time! Two hours, Dahlia. You were supposed to be here two hours ago!"

Dahlia's face scrunched up. "What do you mean? It's only ..." Her voice trailed off as she craned her neck back and checked the time. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 11:15 AM, but that didn't make sense at all. Dahlia had gotten up at seven, like she did every work day, and she was sitting in the warm tub by seven fifteen. Where had those four hours gone, she wondered as she stared at the ticking clock. The last thing she remembered was scrubbing her arms with the bath sponge ... next her neck and shoulders ... and then she heard something pinging against the light ... the fly ... everything after that was foggy ... and then the phone rang.

"Dahlia," Heidi said. "Dahlia, are you there?"

She brought the phone back to her ear. "I'm sorry, Heidi. I must have lost track of time. I'll - I'll be right there. Yep. Okay, bye."

With a sigh, she tossed the phone aside and plopped onto the bed, where she sat for a long while despite the need for urgency. They were happening again, whatever they were. Blackouts seemed the most accurate word for episodes like this, but Dahlia had never seen a specialist for a proper diagnosis, and she didn't care to. Besides, she had survived this long without a doctor. A few more years probably wouldn't kill her.

But they were definitely getting worse, that much was clear. They always got worse when Dahlia was under stress, and this past year had been very stressful for her. Taking this job, for starters, and then finding out her employers were actually vampires. That nasty business with the werewolves certainly didn't help either; neither did getting buried alive by some psychopath. And ... Well, she didn't like to think about the other thing, the worse thing of all. It hurt too much, and Dahlia was getting awfully sick of crying about it. A girl only has so many tears, after all.

Twenty minutes later, Dahlia walked out the door in a baggy, dark blue sweater dress—worn over stockings, of course, or else Renata would throw a fit—and a pair of black ankle boots with sharp stiletto heels. They were the most uncomfortable boots she'd ever worn. By the end of the day, she would hardly be able to walk. "A small price to pay for high fashion," Heidi would say.

Her coat she kept draped over one arm and slipped it on after she'd entered the elevator car. It was a long way down to the lobby—thirteen floors to be exact. Dahlia coiled her hair around her finger while she waited. Blonde it was, but not the dirty blonde color she'd been born with. Demetri never liked that color; he said it looked filthy all the time, like she never washed her hair. Two months ago, he suggested, with no subtlety whatsoever, that she lighten her hair to a warm, golden blonde. "It would bring some color to your face," said the walking corpse whose skin was paler than snow, but Dahlia eventually got sick of his constant jabs and conceded to his demands. And she had to admit, it did look better. He, of course, never complimented her on it. If anything, he pretended not to notice.

But for the past month, Dahlia had been free of Demetri and his sharp tongue. Caius had sent him on a mission—or a hunt as Demetri had called it—a hunt for the the little wolf girl and her mother, the people Santiago had helped before he ... retired. Only he knew where they had gone, and the secret had burned with him. Caius was determined to find them, though—them and every other living werewolf. "As long as they live," he'd told everyone, "our race will always be in danger." Well that might have been true, Dahlia thought, but that certainly didn't justify killing an innocent child. Deep down, she hoped Demetri never found her.

The elevator doors opened and Dahlia hurried through the lobby of the Palazzo dei Volturi, which was currently undergoing renovation, or at least it was supposed to be. Dahlia expected to hear the loud humming and buzzing of power tools, but she heard only her own shoes as she clopped around like a horse. Beneath her feet, there was concrete where there should have been polished marble. In what should have been a finished lounge sat a group of workers, drinking and eating sandwiches. They smiled and waved at her as she passed. "Good morning, Miss Dahlia!" It took all her strength to smile back, but inside she was fuming.

Outside in the pouring rain, Dahlia climbed into the car and slammed the door shut. "Drive," she told the driver, and then she pulled out her phone and called the general contractor. As expected, it went straight to voicemail, so she decided to leave a little message for him to enjoy later:

"Hey, Jean, it's Dahlia. Would you care to explain why I'm still walking on concrete when I should be walking on marble? You said those floors would be finished two days ago, and as far as I can tell, that hasn't happened. Until those floors are installed we can't bring in the furniture. Do you see how your incompetence is putting the entire project on hold? The hotel was supposed to be up and running by the start of the winter season. Well, winter is coming, and we have nothing. The rooms are still being painted. The lobby is in shambles. At this pace, we won't even make the summer season. Do you see why I might be a little frustrated right now? If this project is too much for you to handle, Jean, we'll just find someone else to do it. Okay? You have a good day now." She threw the phone onto the seat next to her and sat back with a loud huff.

The driver was watching her in the rear-view mirror. "You seem stressed, miss."

"A bit," Dahlia replied as she gnawed at her fingernail, an impossible habit to break despite Heidi's best efforts. Bandages, gloves, chemicals of all rotten tastes—none of them worked. With her teeth, she cracked and tore off the tip of her nail and then spat it out like a tiny, white missile before moving on to the next finger. "Tell me the truth, George. Do you think I was being too harsh on him?"

He was distracted by all the chomping and spitting going on in his back seat. "Well, you were a bit snippy, miss, if you don't mind me saying so."

"I don't mind at all." She spat again. "You're right, as usual." But it was too late to call the man back and apologize. Dahlia had more important things to worry about anyway, like how to deliver the news to Heidi. No matter how neatly she packaged it, it wouldn't be well-received, and Heidi would surely blame Dahlia for it all. More responsibilities, she'd wanted. I can handle it, she'd said. Then she went and botched the first project Heidi assigned to her. That little fumble was sure to win her the pay increase she so desperately desired.

Dahlia groaned and massaged her aching temples. These headaches were becoming much too common for her liking. "Coffee," she mumbled; a strong cup of coffee was what she needed most: black and bitter. Without it, she would likely pass out at her desk and wake to Heidi whacking her on the head with her heavy black binder. The thought alone was enough to make her flinch.

"For you, miss." George reached into the back seat and handed Dahlia a stainless steel mug of hot coffee, the cure to all her suffering. It was like a cup of pure sunshine, and Dahlia drank it down with a smile. "When I heard you were running late, I thought I'd best bring you a cup."

She could've kissed him. "Oh, George, you're a lifesaver! Thank you so much."

He nodded. "My pleasure."

The car passed through the southern gate and entered the secluded city of Volterra. A medieval fortress, Dahlia once considered it, with its thick stone walls and centuries old architecture, but now she called it home. By the time they reached the city hall, Dahlia had bitten through all ten of her fingernails and guzzled down the entire mug of black coffee. George grimaced when he noticed the blood on his mug, but he said nothing to the girl, nothing except, "Good day, Miss Dahlia. Stay safe."

Stay safe. That was what he said to all the young women when he dropped them off at work. In his ten years of employment with the Volturi, he'd seen a lot of pretty girls come and go. Innocent girls with their entire lives ahead of them, bright-eyed and hopeful for the future. Girls just like Miss Dahlia. Every day he watched her climb out of his car with a sweet smile on her face, and every day he wondered if this would be the last day he ever saw her.

"Poor thing," he muttered to himself as Dahlia climbed the stairs and opened the door. Before entering, she turned and gave the driver one last wave goodbye. He waved back. "She has no idea what she's gotten herself into."

Dahlia took the elevator down to the lowest level of the city hall, where the sewers formed secret passageways and the darkness was a welcome friend, where vampires walked freely and the Volturi lived like royalty. This was where Dahlia had been working for the past nine months, for a strange man called Aro. He'd spared her from certain doom and deportation and made her an irresistible offer: an escape from all her troubles. No more hunger. No more pain. No more fear. She could have anything, anything at all, as long as she remained his faithful servant—his secretary. At the time, it seemed a small price to pay. What a fool she was. With the stroke of a pen, she'd signed her life away and had forgotten to read the fine print.

But there was no going back now. The contract was forever binding.

In the lobby, Dahlia pulled off her coat and hung it on the coat rack behind her brand new desk. The old one had been smashed to pieces when the wolves broke in, smashed and soaked with black blood. A few feet away, they had discovered Felix's body beneath the rubble, him and two wolves. He'd killed them both before succumbing to his injuries. Heidi was there when they found him, but she refused to talk about it with anyone. Nobody liked to talk about the dead down there.

Heidi appeared the way all vampires did: suddenly and swiftly, gone one second and there the next. When Dahlia turned around, she was standing on the other side of the desk, with her big black binder clutched against the curve of her hip. Her hair, a rich mahogany red, flowed down her chest in loose curls and shimmered in even the dimmest light. The blue contacts she wore masked the red in her eyes and gave them an unnatural violet hue, which mystified all who looked upon them. She was stunning and she was shrewd, and she alone was in charge of all the Volturi's private affairs. Heidi kept this "organization" running smoothly.

"Decided to sleep in, did you?" Heidi asked with a faint smirk on her red lips, and when she received no response from her mousy protege, she simply went on talking. "So when were you planning on telling me about the floors, Dahlia? I visited the hotel last night and saw nothing but dirt and concrete. Those floors were supposed to be finished days ago. You said they would be finished. You said everything was going as planned." With each word, Heidi leaned closer and closer until she was towering directly over the girl. Her powerful fists slammed against the desk, making Dahlia flinch. "Why did you lie to me, Dahlia?"

Dahlia refused to meet her mentor's menacing glare. "Because I thought I could handle it myself. And I am handling it. I called the contractor and left him a message, but I'm still waiting for him to call me back. I'm always waiting. He never returns any of my calls, and his workers spend more time eating than working. Honestly, I think we should fire him."

Finally, Dahlia looked up. The expression on Heidi's face was impossible to discern, but she hoped she was carefully considering Dahlia's proposal and not thinking of the many ways she could torture and murder her. It would have been easy for her now that Aro and the other leaders were away on business. She could have killed her, disposed of the body, and then replaced her with someone else by the time Aro came back.

"Perhaps you're right," Heidi said. "Perhaps we should fire him. I'll have a talk with him later."

A talk with Heidi usually meant one thing: "You're gonna kill him, aren't you?" Dahlia asked.

Heidi rolled her eyes. "Dahlia, if we killed everyone who made a mistake, we'd be doing all the work ourselves. You command respect not through violence but through fear of violence. So you see, I simply have to threaten him." She strode off in a hurry. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a phone call to make. If you need me, I'll be in my office."

That was Heidi's way of saying, "Don't disturb me unless you're dying."

Dahlia sank into her chair and gazed aimlessly around the empty lobby: up and down, back and forth, and saw nothing before her but a blank stone wall. It was hardly inviting, this cold, dreary room. Dahlia tried her best to liven up the space. Once a week, she picked up a fresh bouquet of flowers on her way to work and placed them in the crystal vase on top of her desk, right next to the candy dish. Today, the dish was full of little caramel squares. Nobody ate them besides Dahlia, but she liked to keep them out just in case she had a human visitor. Aro said it was a very sweet and thoughtful gesture, but Caius thought it was a waste of money, and he was getting sick of stepping on candy wrappers.

But candy and flowers weren't enough, Dahlia decided. What she needed was a sleek sitting area right alongside that bare wall across from her desk. Visitors had nowhere to sit when they came. They had to stand awkwardly in the hallway and watch Dahlia fill out paperwork. No wonder they all seemed so miserable. It was a narrow space, yes, but big enough for a couch and a chair or two. Perhaps a long, tufted sofa. Aro would like that. And some paintings to hang on the wall. Yes, that would be perfect! She made a mental note to ask Aro about it when he returned from his trip.

She turned and looked at the clock on the wall. It was already half past twelve. By now, her inbox was surely overflowing.

Dahlia rolled across the floor and positioned herself in front of the flat-screen computer, a gift from Aro for all her hard work. Mostly she used it for shopping and computer games, but sometimes she did actual work. Fifty new emails were sitting in her inbox, half of which were applications for positions in the guard. She received dozens every day. It took only a month for Caius to replace most of his fallen guard, and then the three-month training period began. During those months, Aro had ordered Renata to act as Dahlia's personal bodyguard, to stand watch while she worked just in case any of the new recruits lost control. Sometimes Renata would purposefully cut Dahlia's hand and draw blood. "They need to get used to your scent," she would say before making the cut, "and it's safer to do this in a controlled environment." No vampire could get past Renata.

But Renata wasn't there now. She had gone with the leaders to Forks, Washington, for a business meeting with another coven. A coven of vegetarians Demetri had called them, as if that made any sense at all. "They only drink the blood of animals," he explained to Dahlia when she inquired about it. "For some reason, they believe that makes them vegetarians, so either they're delusional or just plain stupid. Frankly, I don't know which is worse."

Stupid or not, they seemed more humane than Dahlia's current employers.

With a few clicks, she printed out the applications and laid them on Caius's desk in a nice, neat pile. Once she returned to the lobby, however, Dahlia discovered that her seat was already being occupied by a most unexpected visitor. He was reclining comfortably with his feet propped on her desk, fingers interlaced over his stomach, thumbs steadily drumming. When he saw Dahlia poke her head in, a devious smile crept up his pale face.

"Hello, little vulture."


	3. Important Note from the Author!

Hey, I know you guys hate these notes. I do too, but this is the only way I can address all my readers at once, so bear with me. I know you'd much rather be reading a new chapter (and I'd love that too) but this is important.

**Bad News :(**

I have to take a short break from this story. My summer session of class is coming to an end and I'm really busy with final projects and papers and all that fun stuff, so I just won't have that much time to be consistently updating two different fanfics, which is what I've been attempting to do and failing at miserably. Now I would put all my focus on this story, but right now my other story (a Game of Thrones fanfic) is at a really crucial part in the story. If I abandon it now, it will probably kill me.

**Good News! :)**

For the past few years, ever since I started this series actually, I've wanted to develop this into an original work. I love having this as a Twilight fanfic, don't get me wrong, but at times this universe is just too constricting. There's so much more I want to do with this, but I can't because I have to respect Meyer's rules (not that I don't bend them already). That's why I need to separate myself from the _Twilight_ universe and create my own. I've already started, which is why there are so many original characters and settings in this series. Even some members of the Volturi are based on original characters. Demetri, for instance, is NOTHING like he is in the series, and I did that on purpose. I wanted to see if people liked him, and most of you do.

Basically, I'm treating this like a workshop where I'm testing out characters and storylines and seeing what works and what doesn't. Since I've finally finished _The Undying _and I already know what I want to change and further develop, I feel confident enough with my concept to move forward with the original story.

Now, I don't know what that means for this fanfic. If I progress too far, I'm going to end up spoiling my future series. Why would anyone read it if they already know what's gonna happen? Honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do. It's kind of stressing me out, actually. My parents say I'm wasting my time and creativity with fanfiction, and maybe they're right.

I guess I'll cross that road when I get to it. Right now my goal is to start working on the book. That's all I can do.

Thanks for reading this, guys!

A. M. Brossart


	4. IMPORTANT NOTE!

Hey, everyone,

I've been writing fan-fiction for a pretty long time, at least twelve years, and it's been a really great way to practice and develop my writing, but it was always meant to be a temporary gig. The goal was to practice, gain some confidence, and then make the transition to original fiction. Now, I think I'm ready to take that leap, and that's why I will be stepping away from this series.

As you already know, I have been developing an original series based on _The Undying_. When I started that story, I had no intention of making it anything other than a Twilight fanfic, but as I was writing the book, I realized there was the potential for so much more, and I really want to realize that potential. The initial plan was to finish this series and then start the original series, but if I do that, I won't be starting that series for another five years at least. That just won't work. Then I thought maybe I could do both at the same time, and that was an even worse idea. The plots started to become muddled, characters became distorted, and it just turned into a big mess in my head. Attempting both will result in two mediocre books. That's not what I want.

Now, I know this is pretty frustrating to hear, but it's just what I have to do. Don't think of it as a series ending; think of it as a series transforming into something even better. As I get further along in the book, I'll definitely release the first few chapters for you guys to read.

Thanks for all the support,

A. M. Brossart


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